


a loving feeling

by richmq



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmq/pseuds/richmq
Summary: Post church bombing from Aziraphale’s perspective.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	a loving feeling

Embers floated through the sky, and if it weren’t for the danger of the whole situation, Aziraphale would’ve appreciated the tragic beauty of it all.

His ears were ringing, his heart felt like it was anywhere but his chest, and his vision was blurred, but all he could think of was the thing that shouldn’t ever cross his mind. 

Crowley.

Crowley, who stood all but a few feet from him.

Crowley, with smoke and fog pooling around his ankles making him look all the more ethereal. 

Crowley, in his black suit and hat, and those blasted sunglasses.

Crowley, who, last time they spoke, had asked for the one thing that would take him away from Aziraphale.

Crowley, who had stepped in at the last minute, as he had in Paris, and saved him from being discorporated.

Crowley, the demon.

He blended in so beautifully with the night sky, his all black attire indulging him so deeply into the shadows. His eyes would stand out in such a heavenly fashion, their golden-yellow glow shining amongst his darkness, if it weren’t for those sunglasses.

It was quiet for a moment, one of those moments to savor as long as you live, one of those in between moments of contentment, thought and peace, a moment he had only ever experienced with Crowley at his side. 

What a thing, to breathe in all the world around you in the company of the man you have come to count on most in the world.

What a thing, to be surrounded by danger but to feel safe from the closeness of a friend.

Aziraphale was choking on the feeling. A sweetly painful rush in his chest and throat, and he could feel every inch of his body burning with something familiarly unfamiliar.

All that being considered, it was a miracle that he was able to stutter a hoarse; “That was very kind of you.” 

Each word felt unsatisfying, not nearly as much as Crowley deserved and not nearly as much as he felt he should say. What he wanted to say.

“Want” isn’t something an angel such as Aziraphale was used to. Every now and then, he’d want a crepe from Paris, or another delicacy from who knows where, or he’d want to read a certain book. But around Crowley, wanting felt like it was all he’d ever known. A lifetime of yearning for something Aziraphale wasn’t sure of, each time Crowley was near it was almost as though someone had lit a match and held it against his insides until they caught fire, and shriveled under the heat. But when he was no longer in the demon’s company, it was like the feeling never existed, and the fire blew out cold in a haze of smoke, much like the kind that surrounded the celestial beings presently. It wasn’t at all a pleasant aftermath.

Crowley looked up at him, his mouth held tight on the verge of a frown and his eyebrows knitted together in a disbelieving sort of way.

“Shut up,” He drawled.

Aziraphale would’ve been taken aback, if it was anyone other than Crowley, and if Crowley hadn't just shown up for him in a way that was beyond repayment.

“Well, it was.” 

Was he sounding too kind? Too thoughtful? Crowley wasn’t the most acquainted with kindness, certainly not so much directly from Aziraphale. 

“No paperwork, for a start,” he chuckled, the burning now mixing with a painful awareness. He wanted Crowley to know how thankful he was. Not just for this time, but for all the other times that Crowley had kept him company. He wanted to thank him for the comfortable silences. Thank him for caring, no matter how much he wouldn’t admit to such a thing. Thank him for being taken out to lunch, for having his ears talked off by Aziraphale. Thank him for the miracles he called “demonic favours.”

Aziraphale wouldn’t hesitate to call them miracles, no matter how small. They were always significant.

Aziraphale looked down at his hands, where he held his hat tightly, and felt as though something were missing. He and Crowley were here, what could it be?

Oh.

“Oh, the books!”

Crowley looked up at him once more, his expression relaxed and… well, unexpressive. 

“I forgot all the books!” He didn’t care how exasperated he sounded. He was in this mess in the first place for the whole purpose of getting the books, and now they were bloody gone thanks to multiple distractions. (Thank you, Crowley. Thank you, Nazis.)

Crowley started, getting on his way to who knows where, and Aziraphale would’ve been disappointed at his quick departure if he weren’t so caught up in his own careless stupidity.

“Oh, they’ll all be blown to-”

Crowley bent down beside him.

He reached down to a hand that stuck out of the ground.

A hand that clutched tightly to a familiar suitcase.

His suitcase.

Which Crowley was now holding out to him.

“Little demonic miracle of my own.” He said.

Aziraphale barely heard him. 

Crowley started to walk off again, through the rubble and debris of the church. “Lift home?” he offered, casually. So very casually.

Aziraphale glanced down at his suitcase, his suitcase full of books, his suitcase full of books that Crowley had thought to save for him.

The match-made fire felt pathetic to what was happening in that very moment. A forest fire festered inside of him, reaching every point of his body, burning everything in its wake. The flames burst through into his head, his thoughts screaming helplessly and desperately for firemen, for some water, for anything. The fire consumed them easily, he could feel each individual one burn to a crisp, shrivelling and crumbling in on themselves in a dramatically tragic display.

Aziraphale had never felt more alive. More aware. More sure of anything.

The fire was finished with his brain, but it certainly was not done. Clawing it’s way down his throat and tearing through to his chest. And then something odd happened. A force field of sorts, built itself around his heart. A force field of water outlining his very soul, his very core, whilst the rest of the almost unstoppable fire burned through the rest of his body.

From the very bottom of his feet, to the tips of the hairs on his head, he burnt. He melted. The demon was melting him, and he welcomed it with open arms and hopeful eyes.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, unsure of what his own expression was as the fire had burnt all his nerves. He watched him walk towards his Bentley, his stupid, treasured Bentley that he’d do anything to protect.

And Aziraphale came to realise, there and then, that if it meant all that much to Crowley then it meant all that much to him as well.

Crowley protected Aziraphale just as he protected his Bentley.

Aziraphale needed his bookstore just as he needed Crowley.

They were each other’s treasured belongings, each other’s lifeline. Each other’s home.

He started on his way, following Crowley to the way out of this treacherous pile of rubble and human remains.

And now that his heart was isolated to the rest of his body, he knew what he wanted.

He would follow Crowley anywhere, he would be there for him at anytime, and he would protect Crowley with the same passion as he did his bookstore, just as Crowley did his Bentley.

His heart, at this moment, was all that he had to use, and it told him what the fire meant. And he listened.

And for the first time in a very long time, God smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading!!


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